


Blue Team

by GreyLiliy



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Acceptance, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Night Terrors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-07
Updated: 2013-08-07
Packaged: 2017-12-22 16:45:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/915586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyLiliy/pseuds/GreyLiliy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Washington has nightmares, and Blue Team doesn't care.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue Team

**Author's Note:**

> Originally Written in May 2013:
> 
> I wanted to write Wash having a breakdown while he's on Blue Team, and follow it up with shameless fluff.
> 
> So I did.
> 
> On another note, I'm slowly coming to accept and embrace the fanon idea that Caboose is a big guy, towering a good head or two over everyone like Maine.

Wash was in full armor, still breathing heavily and heart still pounding. Well, he was almost in full armor. Wash's helmet was on its side a few feet away on the rooftop, swaying back and forth on its rounded top. He'd had it on for two minutes before the confined space overwhelmed him and he needed it off because  _he couldn't breathe._ Wash half wondered why he bothered to put everything on in the first place.

The wind blew through his hair, and he covered his head with the back of his hands as he leant over on his knees. That's right: He had run outside. No point in running out in your boxers in the open, where everyone can see you, even if you are having a mild panic att—

"Agent Washington!" Caboose shouted, scrambling up onto the rooftop. He tackled Wash in the side, and lifted him in a bone-crushing hug. Wash's feet dangled an inch above the ground and Caboose squeezed harder, on the verge of panic. "You are not dead or bleeding!"

"Caboose!?" Wash yelped, arms trapped at his sides by the kid's Omega-like grip. What were they feeding this kid? Seriously!

"Caboose, you moron! Put him down before you break him! We already go through Leaders like popcorn! Don't add to it!" Tucker said, climbing up the last few steps of the ramp to the roof. Caboose looked at them both in turn, before opening his arms and dropping Wash to the ground. Tucker snorted. "Good boy."

Wash rubbed his chest through his armor, fairly certain he had a bruise developing. He blew a breath, hoping his armor wasn't dented. Caboose wrung his hands and Tucker looked annoyed. Wash cleared his throat, and suddenly felt exposed without his helmet. "What are you two doing up?"

"Three guesses and the first two don't count," Tucker said. He snapped his fingers at Caboose. "Hey, now that you know Wash isn't dead, go get him a glass of water or something. Be helpful."

"Okay! I can do that!" Caboose said, the worry on his face falling away like water. He ran back the direction he came calling out "Water time!"

Alone, Wash looked over at Tucker, and sat back down on the edge of the wall where he had been perched earlier. "Was I screaming earlier?"

"Dude, I'm pretty sure you woke up Grif in Red Base," Tucker said, kicking him in the leg. "You freaked out Caboose man."

"Sorry."

"You should be. I was half-way trying to explain what a 'night terror' was so he'd leave you alone, and stop bothering me to go 'rescue you,' but then your agonized yells cut dead off." Tucker tapped the top of his finger against his sword blade. He lifted it, crossing his arms. "After that, there was no stopping him from rushing to check on you."

"But I wasn't in my room," Wash guessed. Not that he would be. The second he woke up, Wash had to get out of his room. He'd set a record for donning his armor and sprinting into the open.

"Nope."

Wash covered his head again. "Sorry, again."

"Eh, not your fault." Tucker shifted again from one foot to the other. He avoided eye contact with Wash, and kept his focus on one of the glowing blue lights atop their base. "I'd be a little more worried if you  _weren't_  having nightmares and shit."

Wash lifted an eyebrow at Tucker. "Oh?"

"Epsilon was uh, talkative." Tucker scratched at his arm. "About you and Carolina."

Wash almost growled. "Oh, I bet he was."

"Not that he needed to tell us anything, I mean with what we saw from that Freelancer bullshit, a guy's gotta' be messed up after that." Tucker paused. "Look at Tex, and Wyoming, and The Meta. You guys had issues, man."

"Tell me about it."

The two soldiers were quiet for a moment with the endless sun shining high over head. Wash glanced toward the Red Base across the Blood Gulch canyon. He covered his mouth, and bit his lip. His words felt as heavy as he felt. "You really think they heard me at Red Base?"

"Dude, I was just teasing," Tucker said. He started, and shifted in his armor like he didn't know what to do with himself. "And even if they did, who cares what they think?"

"I do," Wash said. He shifted his foot, and stood. Uncomfortable in his own skin, he walked away from Tucker. He watched Red Base, so quiet and still on the other side of the canyon. And turned back to their own. Wash couldn't take it. He'd been caught in the middle of a stupid nightmare of all things hiding on the roof. It was…it was  _embarrassing._ "That's just it! I  _do_  care what they think! I care what  _you_  think!"

"Uh, why? What does our opinion matter?" Tucker said, his gaze followed Wash as he started to pace. "You're the awesome Freelancer, dude."

"But I'm not! You guys really don't get it, do you? I'm not an awesome Freelancer." Wash turned and held his hands out, pleadingly. "I was the joke of the entire program!"

Wash continued, not giving Tucker a chance to intervene. "I was always out of the loop, they were always yelling at me to shut up. I never knew what anyone was talking about. I was the worst fighter on the team, which didn't help that I was still somehow in 6th place on the leaderboard. And when I didn't understand something or asked a question I was teased, mercilessly by people I thought were friends—"

"Dude, we do that all the time," Tucker interrupted. "It's part of being friends."

"This was different, Tucker," Wash said. "You guys make fun of each other, and even Caboose gets a dig in once in a while. This, this was  _them_ making fun of _me._  If I found some way to tease back, I usually got shot down pretty quickly. It was never funny, but I still thought of them as friends no matter how badly of assholes they were.

"But, I was wrong. Because at the end of the day," Wash paused, and covered his face. He couldn't even begin to fathom how he'd started on this subject of all things, but now that he  _was_  there, Wash couldn't stop. The words kept coming. "C.T. left, and got herself killed. Maine went crazy. York and North probably liked me, or at least were the nicest when they weren't teasing, but they had Carolina and South on the priority list way ahead of me. Carolina was obsessed with Texas. And that was all before I was reassigned to Recovery One! Then, South shot me in the back, leaving me for dead—and then  _I_ shot her in the face. I killed all the AI units myself, even Delta and Theta. Maine tried to kill me. And Carolina—Caroline left, too. She could have stayed with me and you guys, but she chose to leave, too."

"You guys are all I've got." Wash dropped his hands to his sides. "With the Freelancers I was a joke half the time, but with you guys—"

"Yeah, yeah," Tucker said, and Wash could almost see the eye-roll under his helmet. "We're the simulation soldiers and you get to be the big, bad Freelancer. You're the king of the hill around us. I get it, really."

"I was going to say equal, but after how I acted when we met I can see how you'd get that impression." Wash sighed. "But now, I realize we're all about the same level, so it's not that big of a deal if we all make fun of each other. We're on even ground."

"Don't take this the wrong way, dude, but I think you're a little bit above us," Tucker said. "You can kick all of our asses without blinking, and don't get me started on your rifle work."

"I was defeated by Sarge and Grif, and let me remind you that it was you guys who beat The Meta. Not me." Wash sighed. "Maybe individually I could take you, but as a group I think you guys have me beat."

"According to Grif you took out a Hornet by yourself, with only a gun from the ground."

"Not the point, I'm making."

"Just saying."

"Military training aside then!" Wash looked both ways, and said, "At the very least, you guys are easily as smart as I am." He paused. "At least you, Simmons, and Doc anyway. Sometimes Sarge and Grif."

"So, you care about what we think 'cause you don't want us to ditch you? That it?" Tucker said, reading between the lines. "I sum that up?"

"Pretty much," Wash said, dropping his shoulders. He rubbed his face with both of his hands. What was wrong with him tonight? "Yeah."

"What do you think, Caboose?" Tucker asked, looking over Wash's shoulder.

Wash turned around only to be trapped in a giant hug, once again. A cup of water clattered to the ground, splashing its contents across the concrete roof. Caboose squeezed once more before holding Wash up by the arms and holding him out in front of him.

"Caboose?" Wash asked, slightly intimidated by Caboose's narrowed, concentrated gaze.

"Are we friends, Agent Washington?" Caboose asked.

Wash squirmed in the kid's grip. "Yes?"

"Friends don't ditch friends." Caboose nodded with the finality of the statement, and dropped Wash to his feet for the second time that night. "Even if they sometimes shoot them in the back. Which isn't a big deal."

"Right, Caboose." Wash said, the smile tugging on his lips. This is what he needed. He really—among these Simulation soldiers—felt more at home here than he ever did at Project Freelancer. "You got it."

"Then no more worrying! 'Cause we like you!" Caboose said. "You're nice, and you beat the Reds, and have Freelancer powers!"

"If you say so, Caboose." Wash said, smiling. Caboose's enthusiasm was contagious.

"So, says the both of us. And back to what started this mess—seriously, dude." Tucker asked, thumping the ex-Freelancer in the chest. "Screw what Red Team thinks. You're Blue Team for life."

Wash asked, "Screaming night terrors and all?"

"Duh, now let's go back to bed before the stupid Reds wake up and start shooting at us."

"Sounds good," Wash said. He leaned down and grabbed his helmet, before turning to grab the empty cup of water. "Sleep is definitely good."

"So after you, leader-boy," Tucker said, waving his hand at Wash. "Get going. We'll follow."

"Right," Wash said.  _The Leader_. That'd take some getting used to. He looked over his shoulder at Caboose and Tucker. At least he had a great team. "Then let's go."

They were halfway down the ramp, when Wash heard Caboose whisper, "Tucker."

"Yeah, Caboose?" He answered, yawning inside his helmet. "What?"

"I'm really glad you let me keep Agent Washington."

"Yeah, me too, buddy. Me, too."

Wash thanked his awesome Freelancer powers for steady steps as he headed back into his room. He had a feeling at least for tonight, the nightmares would stay away.


End file.
